


Booper Dooper

by Not__Misha__Collins



Series: Found Fiction Archives [3]
Category: Septiplier - Fandom, Youtuber RPF, jacksepticeye, markiplier - Fandom
Genre: M/M, artist, game developer, painter
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-17
Updated: 2017-10-17
Packaged: 2019-01-18 14:20:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 2,991
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12389823
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Not__Misha__Collins/pseuds/Not__Misha__Collins
Summary: Jack is a game developer living in Ireland, and Mark is an artist living in LA. They meet by chance at an art showing/signing.I wrote this back in 2015, and it's been sitting on paper for about two years.





	1. Jack and Mark

Jack made his way back to his desk chair in his hotel room, and plopped into the chair. He’d already finished on the development of level two for a new game called “Booper Dooper,” where the main character is a green eyeball shaped thing who has to find its way back home.  
Jack was an Irish game developer, who worked mostly in Ireland, on smaller games that ended up on places like Steam. He loved his job, loved interacting with fans via Twitter, or the occasional vlog on YouTube. People loved him, but god, if he wasn’t lonely as all hell. Sure, he had looks, could probably get a girlfriend if he wanted…but he didn’t want. Only when he was alone, away from the computer, away from real life friends, would he face the truth: he’s gay. Not something he could help, and in this day and age, he would be more accepted. Oh well, not like his secret turned him into an isolated drunk or anything. He poured himself another glass of scotch.  
…  
Mark inspected his painting one more time before cleaning his supplies and putting them away. He was a painter, an artist, although a few say his art is “nothing but paint splatters.”  
He’s semi-famous, makes a couple hundred dollars per painting, and was invited to an art showing in LA to display his art. It started in three days, and he was a bit late finishing his painting. Mark decided he needed some air, so he left his hotel room and walked out into the hallway. Distracted, he bumped into someone, who nearly fell.  
“Oh, I am so sorry,” Mark said.  
“My fault,” The person said, “Wasn’t watching where I was going.”  
The person he ran into was a brunette man with blue eyes and…what was that accent? Irish?  
“Mark?” The man asked.  
Mark looked confused. “Do I know you?”  
“No. It’s just…you’re Mark Fishbach…the artist.”  
“Oh. You’re a fan?”  
“Um…yeah,” The man answered, “My name’s Jack, by the way.”  
“Well hello, Jack,” Mark became nervous all of the sudden, “Always nice to meet a fan.”  
“I…I’m sorry to bother you.”  
Mark smiled. “No problem,” He said, “I just finished a painting and came out to get some fresh air.”  
“M…me too.”  
“Oh, you’re an artist?”  
“Well, no,” Jack said, “A game developer, actually.”  
“Art comes in a lot of forms.”  
“You think that’s art?” Jack asked, surprised.  
“What would you call it?”  
“Hell,” The Irishman joked.  
Mark laughed.  
“Are you here for the art show?”  
“Yeah.”  
“Well, I’ll see you there,” Mark said, “I have to go. Nice meeting you, Jack.”  
“You too.”  
Mark nodded and walked off. That guy was…something. How can some random guy make him question his sexuality? It wasn’t like he’d ever questioned it before, not on a daily basis, while alone at wherever he was staying at.


	2. Art Show

3 days later…  
Mark searched around at the art show, trying to spot his artwork, as well as his friend, Bob’s. with only a few minutes until the show started, he hurried back to a table, his table that he was assigned to greet and sign autographs. Secretly, he wondered if Jack would show up, wished to talk to him. Mark knew it was hopeless, as he’d have other fans who wanted to meet him, and running straight for Jack would be unfair.  
Jack wondered the room of the art show until he found one of Mark’s paintings. It was only about a few feet wide and tall, on a non-framed canvas. The painting was simply a splatter-painted unicorn in the middle with three colors: pink, purple, and blue. The Irishman felt a tingle inside him. Could Mark be…? No, Jack thought, no way. Mark’s an open guy; he would have been out if he was. Wouldn’t he? He shrugged. The line to see Mark was quite large, but he waited anyway. After a while, the line got shorter, and Jack was face to face with Mark.  
“Hello again…um, Jack?” Mark said.  
Mark cringed internally at his own nervousness. Jack didn’t notice, as he was too busy fanboy-ing over the fact that Mark remembered his name.  
“Yeah,” Jack said.  
“Nice to see you again, Jack,” Mark smiled nervously.  
“You too.”  
A lady who helped run the show whispered something in Mark’s ear.  
“Okay,” Mark told her, then faced Jack, “I have to go. Maybe I’ll see you around, Jack.”  
“Yeah,” Jack nodded.  
Jack was close to asking Mark out, but he was held back. Would Mark reject him, be upset that he asked in a public place, or maybe suspect that the Irishman was trying to out him. He watched sadly as Mark left, then headed out himself.  
…  
Later that night…  
Mark can go to a gay bar if he wants. Especially if he wants to forget about a cute Irish fan he met…by meeting other men. You’re a fucking genius, Mark.  
“Hey,” A guy sat next to Mark.  
Mark jumped, then looked to see a tall guy with dark blonde hair.  
“Sorry,” The guy said, “Didn’t mean to scare you. Name’s Sam.”  
“Hey, Sam. I’m Mark.”  
“You’re new here, aren’t you?”  
Mark shrugged. “You could say that.”  
“You have that look,” Sam laughed.  
“Look?”  
“The shy and nervous look,” Sam answered, “All the newbies have it. Let me guess: You’re questioning, and you want some questions answered.”  
Mark stayed silent as his eyes looked toward the front door as it swung open and HE walked in. Sam was confused, then turned toward the door.  
“You know that guy?” Sam asked.  
“Kind of,” Mark kept his eyes on the man at the door.  
“Mark,” The man at the door asked.  
“Um…hey, Jack.”


	3. Bar

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I know Mark can't drink, but I wrote this in 2015.

“Well, I’ll just go,” Sam said, and wrote a number on a napkin, “Call me if you need any…advice.”  
Sam walked off, leaving Mark and Jack alone. The two sat at a booth.  
“So…” Jack began.  
“You’re…”  
“Yeah,” Jack finished, “You?”  
“Kind of,” Mark said, “I don’t know anymore.”  
Jack took a deep breath.  
“No one knows,” He said, “Except me and you.”  
“I think we’re safe here, at least,” Mark said, “Just hope no one I know…”  
“Sees you here?”  
“Exactly.”  
He finished my sentence, Mark thought, then, Come on, Mark. You think that means anything?  
…  
The two sat in silence for a moment, until Mark spoke up.  
“Want a drink? I’ll buy.”  
“Beer?”  
“All right.”  
…  
Jack gripped the table as Mark left to get the drinks. The Irishman felt a lump in his throat, odd, seeing as he rarely cried. Something was different about Mark, something which he didn’t get out of a lot of people. For starters, he knew Mark was gay, or at least had an interest in guys. However, he didn’t know if Mark was interested in him. Maybe Mark had already hit it off with Sam, and Jack was too late.  
“Here you go, Jack,” Mark handed him a beer, holding one and some fries for himself, “Fries?”  
Jack took a few fries, then a sip of his beer.  
…  
Mark isn’t much of a drinker. That along with being mildly allergic to alcohol, made him drunk really fast.  
“Mark?” Jack asked.  
“Hmm?”  
“You’re a bit drunk,” Jack laughed, “Want to go home?”  
Mark raised an eyebrow, “To your place?”  
“Sure.”  
“All right, we’ll take a taxi.”  
“M’kay.”  
…  
Mark threw his arm across the Irishman’s shoulders when the two left the taxi. Jack payed the fare and the two made their way up to Jack’s room. As Jack got the room key, Mark whispered in his ear.  
“You’re sexy,” He whispered.  
The Irishman blushed, then remembered that Mark was drunk and probably didn’t mean it.  
“Thanks,” He said as the two entered the room and he put Mark gently on the bed.  
“No really, I mean it,” Mark sat up and pulled his shoes off, “I can’t stop thinking about you.”  
“That’s the alcohol talking.”  
“No it’s not. Jack…”  
“Go to sleep, Mark. I’ll see you in the morning.”  
Mark sighed, tired of arguing, and sick from alcohol, and went to sleep.  
…  
Jack waited until his guest was asleep before letting out the tears he was holding back. Jack, you coward. You don’t deserve him. You don’t deserve anyone. Why are you so hard on yourself, Jack?


	4. Back to Ireland

Mark woke that morning with not a hangover, but a headache. He got up to realize he wasn’t in his room, but in Jack’s. Right, because he and Jack were at the gay bar, because Jack is gay. Did they…The details were fuzzy. Mark searched through Jack’s room for a Motrin, or something to treat his headache. He found a bottle of Motrin’s in an open suitcase, which lay next to a small baggie with a few pills in it. Mark shrugged it off and took a few Motrin’s, then threw the bottle back in the suitcase.  
Jack awoke to the smell of coffee, which was his favorite beverage.  
“Hey, Jack,” Mark called, “Brought you some coffee and a donut.”  
The Irishman sat up and rubbed his eyes.  
“Mark, you seem awfully…”  
“Not plagued by a hangover?” Mark finished as he handed the coffee to Jack, “Found some Motrin’s in your suitcase. I mean, not that I was snooping or anything, just…my head hurt.”  
“Yeah. Look, you didn’t happen to see anything…else in there, did you?”  
“Just a bunch of clothes,” The brown-haired man lied.  
…  
Jack looked at the clock. “Shit!”  
“What?”  
“I have to check out, then get to the airport. My flight leaves at twelve, I think.”  
“Oh…well…” Mark wrote on a piece of paper, “Here’s my cell, and Skype. If you want to talk…”  
Jack took the paper, “Thanks,” He said, “It was great meeting you, really.”  
“You, too,” Mark smiled.  
…  
Jack quickly packed his stuff, checked out of the hotel, and went to the airport.  
…  
The plane ride back to Ireland was silent, Jack staring out the window much of the time, playing on his phone, or sleeping. The ride back to his apartment after getting his luggage was simply exhausting. He plopped down on his bed, and pulled out two pills from his bag, took them, and waited. Sleep is for the weak, Jack always says. If only they knew, those people who admired him, looked up to him, that he was so desperate to get his work done, so desperate for approval, that he took that shit to stay awake. He’s an addict, a druggy. As much as he tried, he couldn’t stop. His body wouldn’t let him.; it shakes and quivers if he stops.  
…  
He does not deserve Mark. He doesn’t deserve anyone, or anything. Jack lied on his bed, and sobbed heavily into his pillow. Later, he took out his phone and texted Mark.  
Hey, it’s Jack.  
He waited a few minutes, then got a reply.  
Who?  
Jack didn’t feel like responding, so he put his phone away. Once again, he waited for the ‘crash’, and once again, he was all alone.


	5. Skype

Jack came to around three in the afternoon, meaning he was nearly late on his deadline for Booper Dooper level 3. Because you just fuck everything up, don’t you, Jack? If this project falls through, it’s all your fault. He got to work immediately. Damn, if he didn’t take three more of those pills.  
…  
Eventually, he got around to checking his phone. Mark had sent a couple more messages:  
Oh yeah, Jack. I remember. I’ll add you.  
Then, a couple hours after:  
Jack?  
Jack responded  
Hey Mark. It’s been a long day.  
Sure has. Make it back okay?  
Yeah.  
Glad to hear. Are you busy? Wanna Skype?  
Jack thought for a moment. He’d just finished developing level 2, starting level 3, so he wasn’t too busy. On the other hand, he looked like crap, red eyes and paler than usual.  
Sure.  
…  
When Jack popped up on Mark’s computer via Skype, he looked just awful. Red puffy eyes (has he been crying?) full of a deep kind of pain, a pale face and messy hair.  
“Hey, Mark.”  
“You okay, Jack?”   
“Tired,” Jack said, “I slept in when I got home from the airport. Spent the last three hours working on my game.”  
“Game?”  
“It’s called Booper Dooper,” Jack said, “It’s about this little green…You…probably don’t care.”  
“No…go ahead,” Mark said, “A little green…thing.”  
“A little green eyeball,” The developer said, “Called Sam the Septic Eye. You play as Sam, exploring the world, trying to make it through all these levels and different worlds.”  
“That sounds awesome!” Mark exclaimed.  
“Yeah,” Jack said, then thought, ‘just hope I don’t screw it up’.  
“You don’t seem very thrilled.”  
“Well, it’s just…When you work on a game every single day, you get kind of sick of seeing it.”  
“I get what you mean,” Mark said, “I get sick of my paintings and sculptures after about a week or so.”  
“And you just want to throw it out the window.”  
Mark laughed. “Yeah.”  
…  
Jack couldn’t think of what to say, so he stared awkwardly at the computer screen.  
“Jack, there’s a reason I wanted to Skype you.”  
“What?”  
“I like you,” Mark admitted, “I know I don’t know you, but…”  
“You don’t know me,” Jack interrupted, “So you don’t know what I really am. You don’t know I only bring everyone down. You would be disappointed…everyone would.”  
Mark’s face turned to a look of sorrow.  
“Jack…”  
“I have to go, Mark.”  
“Jack, wait!”  
The Irishman took his finger away from the mouse, and looked at Mark.  
“I saw the pills,” Mark said, “Whatever you’re going through…”  
“It doesn’t matter. Goodbye, Mark. I’m sorry.”  
Jack hung up, then fell into another fit of crying. Mark was the closest thing he’d had to a real-life friend in a while, and he messed it up. He rejected Mark’s kindness, his caring. And why? Because he was scared? Because he didn’t want to be happy? He texted Mark again.  
I’m sorry.  
Don’t do anything stupid. Please.  
Just forget about me.  
I can’t.  
Why not?  
I just can’t.  
Goodbye, Mark.


	6. Chance

It had been a week since Mark had spoken to Jack. He tried to text, call, anything he could think of to contact the guy. Maybe Jack was…dead. As much as he hated to think about it, maybe the poor guy had snapped. What could he do? Call the police and report…some guy in Ireland MIGHT have killed himself? Maybe Jack never liked him in the first place.  
…  
Mark turned off his phone and delved into his next painting. It was a big one for his liking. Not that he could concentrate if he tried. The guilt was getting to him. He should have helped Jack somehow.  
…  
Someone knocked on Mark’s apartment door, and he went to answer it. The person standing at the door was Jack.  
“How did you find my apartment?” Mark asked, perhaps more harsh than intended.  
“Internet.”  
“Shit,” Mark cursed under his breath, “So, um…what are you doing here?”  
“I need your help.”  
“You flew all the way here for help?”  
“Please,” Jack begged.  
Mark let him in. the Irishman slumped down on Mark’s couch, and the American sat by him.  
“What’s the matter?” He asked, “And you better tell the truth.”  
“I don’t even know where to start.”  
Mark slipped his arm around Jack’s.  
“Try,” He said.  
Jack took Mark’s hand, though he didn’t know why. Neither of them pulled away.  
“Most of the time, no one even bothers to ask,” Jack began, “I’m strung out, tired, afraid, ashamed.”  
“Why are you ashamed?”  
“Because I’m gay, Mark,” He said, “And the only person I’ve ever told about it refused to talk to me again. He was my best friend, until I told him.”  
Mark gently rubbed his thumb against Jack’s.  
“So you kept it a secret?”  
Jack nodded. “And I’ve been alone ever since.”  
“And the pills?”  
“Keep me awake. At least, that was the intention. Now, I just need them.”  
“You don’t have to be alone, you know.”  
“Why would you want someone like me?”  
“Do you think I’m perfect?” Mark reasoned, “I’ve got issues, too.”  
“Like what?”  
“I can’t concentrate sometimes,” He began, “I’ve got ADD.”  
“Do you like me, Mark?”  
“Yeah, I do. I like you a lot.”  
Jack grabbed Mark’s hair gently and kissed him. When he pulled away, Mark only smiled.  
“I’m sorry,” The visitor pleaded.  
“Don’t be,” Mark assured him.  
“I’m new at this,” Jack said, “I’ve never even…”  
“It’s okay. We’ll make this work. How long are you staying?”  
“I don’t know. I spent all my money to come here.”  
“It’s a good thing you found me then, huh?” Mark said, “Did you bring anything? Suitcases?”  
“Outside, in the hall.”  
“You left them there?” Mark shouted, heading for the door, “I mean, I’m not saying my neighbors are thieves, but…”  
Mark went and took Jack’s suitcases into the apartment.  
“I left my game stuff at home,” Jack said.  
Mark sighed, “When do you have to have the game done?”  
“Well, it’s my game, so I have the dates I set myself.”  
“You’re the only one working on this?”  
Jack nodded.  
“Oh. Wow,” Mark said, “You need a break. Just a couple of weeks.”  
“I’m broke.”  
“You can stay here. I’ll buy all your food and stuff…”  
“You don’t have to do that.”  
“Please,” Mark insisted, “I’ve got money to spare.”  
Jack was hesitant. Why would Mark provide for this man who barely knows him? Does he have ulterior motives?  
“Okay,” Jack said, seeing no other option, “I’ll stay here, then.”  
“Good. Now, about your game.”  
“What about it?”  
“Do you need an artist? Someone to draw Sam, the backgrounds, the platforms…”  
“Well…”  
“I know it’s your thing, and I respect that. But, maybe I could take some stress off you.”  
“I’ll think about that.”


End file.
